A Reasonable Sacrifice
by magentacr
Summary: After HLV, John and Sherlock talk about what it means to make a sacrifice, and make a promise. A promise neither forget when the time comes. WARNINGS: Major character death. Many feels.


The fire crackled, filling the otherwise dark room with a warm glow. It had been a long day of solemn goodbyes and surprising returns. There was nothing much they could do to track down Moriarty today, so they had retired back to 221b for the evening. Mary was downstairs with Mrs Hudson, knowingly giving the boys some space, as they sat in their armchairs opposite each other, drinking their tea in the calm after the storm. The air was thick with unspoken words that neither said but both understood.

And yet there was one unspoken thing, churning in John's mind, begging for release. Of course Sherlock could clearly see on his face that there was _something_ on his mind, but what he did not know. Normally not knowing would irritate the man, but this was John. He would tell him, when he was ready. There was no need to hurry him. They both took another silent sip from their cups, eyes flicking up and meeting.

"That's the second time, you know." John sighed, putting his cup back down and straightening his posture, ready for _the conversation_.

"Hm… second time of what?" Sherlock replied casually over his teacup, causing John to narrow his eyes as he watched him. Of course he knew, he just was waiting for John to say it.

"The second time you've sacrificed yourself on my behalf." John clarified.

"Oh. That." Sherlock replied, maintaining his nonchalant expression as he also set down his teacup and stared back at John. "You're welcome."

"No I… I wasn't thanking you." John quickly responded with a shake of his head.

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up, though his lip quirked in a small smile. "Why not? Isn't that the proper etiquette for this kind of situation?" he said almost mockingly.

John frowned, then paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and looking down at his teacup in his lap before speaking again.

"Did it not occur to you to _ask_ me, before making that decision for me?" he said, looking up sharply with serious eyes, waiting for Sherlock's response.

"Of course it did. And I knew that you would have been too _noble_ to let anyone make that kind of sacrifice for you, and would have said no. I didn't ask so you wouldn't feel the need to object."

John rolled his eyes, shaking his head and directing his gaze to into the fireplace. Reflections of the flames danced in his eyes as he softly replied.

"That's not why I would have said no."

This response did surprise Sherlock. His brow dipped as he examined the man opposite him, trying and failing to understand. "Enlighten me." He all but demanded.

John was silent long enough to test Sherlock's patience, still staring into the flames. Finally he stood up, drained his tea and disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes. Sherlock wondered briefly if he intended to end the conversation there, until he heard the chinking of glasses and realised it was far from over; it was just beginning. John came back, placing a small glass on the table besides Sherlock and pouring a small helping of whiskey, before retreating back to his chair and filling his own glass, putting the bottle down besides the chair.

"What do you believe happens to us when we die, Sherlock?" he said finally, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"I don't believe, I know. Brain function ceases, and the body decays, if it is not cremated first. End of story." Sherlock replied coldly, also abandoning his tea in favour of the whiskey.

"You don't believe in an afterlife, then?"

"No. And you do I suppose?" Sherlock snapped.

"I'd like to think there's more to life than this." John said optimistically, "But let's go with your theory for now. Once you're gone you're gone. No pain, no fear, no sadness."

"Once the brain ceases to function, yes." Sherlock agreed, beginning to understand where this was going.

"But not for those left behind. Those who cared about them. No, they have to deal with the pain, and the sadness of trying to live without them. Trying to rebuild their lives around what's been ripped out of them." John held Sherlock's gaze firmly as he spoke with a passion, remembering those feelings from when he thought Sherlock was dead. He could see Sherlock remembered too, guilt making him a little uncomfortable under John's piercing gaze. "If you want to save me, Sherlock, save me from that. Because as far as I'm concerned death is the easy route, it's being left behind that scares me."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat, dropping his eyes from John's gaze and taking up his glass again.

"You realise of course, this is irrelevant. Neither time I 'sacrificed' myself for you led to my death. I'm still here aren't I? And thanks to my decisions so are you." He said, once again hiding behind a façade of arrogance.

"True." John agreed with a nod, letting up a little. "But the way we go on it's very possible that the situation could come up again in the future. Just letting you know my preferences if it does."

"I'll… try to keep it in mind." Sherlock agreed awkwardly.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

**Several years later**

"John, quick! Behind here!" Sherlock shouted, dragging him behind an industrial sized wheelie bin just in time, as a bullet flew by, barely missing the army doctor. They leaned up against the wall, panting and giggling slightly at the adrenaline high. They were safe here for now, until the sniper on their tails left his current perch, enabling them another opportunity to run. It was a risky game they'd been forced to play all day, and it was getting a little tiring. John was just getting his breath back, about to ask Sherlock how they were going to get out of this in the long run, when Sherlock's phone began to ring. Their eyes met, as Sherlock pulled it out, both knowing who it would be. With a small nod from John, Sherlock accepted the call, putting it straight on speakerphone and holding it out on his palm between them.

"Hello?" Sherlock asked, his breathing under control, for the most part.

There was a sinister laugh from the other end of the line. _"Having fun down there boys?"_

"Immensely." Sherlock replied deadpan, waiting for their hunter to get to the point.

_"How long do you really think you can run from me, Sherlock? Forever? Because that's what it will take. I'm a sniper, I can wait. It's what I do. It's what I've been trained to do. But you? You're not a very patient man, are you Mr Holmes? You get too bored. You know how this is going to end Sherlock, I'm going to get you, or your little pet one day. It might not be today, it might not be this week, but you __**can't**__ outrun me forever."_

"I don't have to outrun you. There are other ways to stop you." Sherlock replied dismissively.

_"Well you can't come after me personally, you know I'd kill you before you got close enough. If you're thinking about contacting your friends down the yard, I wouldn't bother, they've got nothing on me. No evidence from past crimes, and since you're my next hit, there won't be any more for you to find until it's too late. Your brother won't be able to help you either, I've known a long time how to stay out of his sight, and I'm not stupid enough to make my hits from rooftops, it's not like he can fly his pretty little helicopter over the city to find me. I might even leave the country for a bit. Take a little holiday somewhere out of the reach of the British Government. Come back when you're least expecting it and pick you off on your doorstep when you leave the house. It's over Sherlock, whichever way you play it. You might as well just give up now."_

John watched Sherlock's eyes becoming harder and harder as the man on the phone talked, until his face was almost vacant, like he had retreated to his mind palace to find an answer. But as his frown grew, John knew it was no good. He had them cornered. They could either spend the rest of their lives locked in a bunker, not living at all, or live every day looking over their shoulder until the other shoe finally dropped. It could never work.

"What do you want?" Sherlock finally snapped at the phone in his hand.

That laugh again. _"I want you to tell me who I should be aiming at, Sherlock. I only have to kill one of you. You can choose now, or wait to find out who I choose… in the worst way."_

John and Sherlock's eyes met over the phone in his hand, Sherlock's eyes openly desperate, John's set and determined. Sherlock's thumb slid over the microphone, blocking it so their caller couldn't hear their conversation.

"You promised, Sherlock." John reminded him, taking a step towards the edge of the cover.

"John, no! Please. There could still be a way out, there's always a way out!" Sherlock begged, ending in a shout.

John smiled slightly, though his eyes were tearing up. "Mary taught me a thing or two, Sherlock. I know when you're lying. You can't see a way out either, you just want to delay the inevitable. I don't want to play that game." He turned, moving right up to the edge of their cover, before turning back slightly. "Look after my girls." He said simply.

"Of course." Sherlock replied through gritted teeth, trying to fight off his own tears, trying desperately to think of something, _anything_ that meant this wasn't the only way. But for once, he could think of nothing.

John took a big breath and stepped out, his arms held out wide as if to embrace his fate. Sherlock never took his eyes off him, even as the bullet struck him in the forehead, causing his head to snap back, before his body fell to the floor. His vision was somewhat blurred by tears though, as he stepped out of cover to get closer.

_"Well well, I never expected you to be so selfish, Mr Holmes." _

Sherlock looked down at his friends face, frozen in his last moment with a look of peace, a small smile on his lips. Oh how he envied him, as he felt the full weight of his promise. John was truly safe now, while Sherlock… Sherlock would have to live with this. With stinging eyes, and aching throat and the crushing pain of loss in his chest, he started walking away, towards the agonising task of telling John's family what had happened to him.

"It wasn't selfishness." He bitterly spat into the phone. "It was my sacrifice."

* * *

_AN: Story title taken from the song 'Numb' by Marina and the Diamonds, though it's not necessarily one of those 'listen to it as you read' type songs, just a cool line that fit the fic._

_So, my first ever major character death fic... I didn't think I had it in me, but then this idea came along and just had to be written. Hope you enjoyed it, please review and let me know what you think. PleeeEEEeease._


End file.
